


Christmas Fluff 2020

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Anthology, Casskins, Christmas 2020, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Very light angst with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: Twelve chapters of Casskins Christmas fluffery to end this gawd-awful year!  Enjoy!
Relationships: Cassandra Cillian/Jenkins | Galahad, Eve Baird/Flynn Carsen
Comments: 26
Kudos: 30





	1. Mustaches

By the time Cassandra arrived in their suite of rooms bearing a small tray, Jenkins had a lovely fire blazing cheerily in the fireplace of his sitting room. Cassandra nudged open the door leading into his sitting room with her foot and made a beeline for her husband.

"I'm baaaack!" she sang out brightly as she crossed the room, holding aloft the tray to show him the two large mugs of hot cocoa she'd made for them. "Hope you like marshmallows!"

Jenkins, kneeling by the fire, quickly got to his feet and brushed off his trousers before heading over to see what his wife had brought from the kitchen. His eyes widened as he looked at the mugs of chocolate, each of them heaped with so many soft, melting marshmallows that they looked as if they were full of whipped cream rather than hot chocolate.

"I think you need a few more marshmallows in those," he said sarcastically. "I can still see some chocolate bubbling up around the edges." Rather than take offense, Cassandra merely laughed.

"You can _never_ have too many marshmallows when it comes to hot chocolate!" she shot back pertly, then carried the tray over to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. "Now stop being so grumpy and come have some with me!" Jenkins grunted, but he obediently followed her to the sofa.

"I'm _not_ being grumpy," he muttered. "I'm merely making an observation."

Cassandra rolled her eyes as she dropped onto the leather sofa and set the tray on the coffee table. She turned and patted the cushion next to her in invitation as she smiled up at him. Jenkins took off his coat and draped it over a nearby armchair, then eased himself onto the sofa right next to her. Cassandra handed him one of the heavy stoneware mugs, then took the other for herself. They each took a sip of the rich, hot drink, the tips of their noses unable to avoid touching the soft, sticky mound of marshmallow. Cassandra hummed appreciatively, while Jenkins closed his eyes and sighed quietly. When they looked over at each other, Cassandra laughed at the sight of the thick, gooey rime of marshmallow and chocolate on Jenkins's upper lip and nose.

"What's so funny?" he asked, which only made her laugh harder.

"Nice 'stache!" she snorted, grinning. Jenkins automatically poked his tongue out to try and lick the marshmallow and chocolate off of his upper lip. It was such an un-Jenkins-like thing to see that it made Cassandra drop her head back and laugh even more. Jenkins frowned down at her.

"You're not exactly 'clean-shaven' yourself, you know!" he rumbled, trying to sound stern but only succeeding in sounding amused. The Librarian sat up and raised her hand to gently touch her own lip.

"Oh gosh!" she said, breaking into another soft giggle. "Guess I should've brought some napkins with me."

"No need!" Jenkins announced. Before Cassandra could ask what he meant, the immortal had his free hand at the back of her head, cradling it. He drew her gently forward, and his lips met hers in a soft, gentle kiss. The tip of his tongue trailed slowly along her upper lip as he licked off the sugary residue. Cassandra grew lightheaded at the sensation, and eagerly relaxed into him, returned his kiss. When it ended, she rested her forehead against his chin, slightly out of breath.

"That was nice!" she sighed, wriggling on the sofa as she tried to snuggle against his body. A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Indeed!" he said, and she recognized the familiar note of desire in his voice. She leaned back and, as he watched, slowly and deliberately took another sip of her chocolate, creating yet another thick, chocolatey mustache on her lip. She was gratified to see a slightly feral spark in his dark eyes.

Jenkins took her mug of chocolate and set both of them onto the coffee table in front of them. He then wrapped his long arms around his petite wife and pulled her onto his lap so that he could more easily nuzzle her cheek and ear.

"I have to apologize for my earlier remark, my dear," he said huskily. "It seems that that there really _is_ no such thing as too many marshmallows..."


	2. Pathetic

Jenkins and Cassandra sat across from each other at her desk in the Annex workroom. Each had a sheet of paper on the desktop in front of them, pencils in hand, perplexed expressions on their faces. They were working on their Christmas shopping lists.

"I have no idea what to get Flynn this year," sighed Cassandra, dropping her pencil and flopping back into her chair. "I mean, what in the world do you get for someone who already has access to everything he could ever want?" Jenkins snorted sympathetically.

"I know the feeling," he murmured fervently, looking up from his paper and fixing a meaningful gaze on his Librarian wife. She completely missed his point.

"And Eve—what do you think Eve would like?" the redhead continued obliviously. Jenkins sat up straight in his seat.

" _I_ was thinking she might like a nice boot dagger," he said thoughtfully.

"A _what_?!" Cassandra yelped shrilly, her blue eyes flying open in astonishment.

"A boot dagger," the immortal repeated. "She _is_ a Guardian, after all. I know she prefers that godawful sidearm, but I think she would also find a boot dagger very useful." He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands across his stomach.

"I used to carry one with me for a long time myself, back in the day," he continued wistfully. "It got me out of _many_ a tight spot, too, I can assure you!" Cassandra wrinkled her small nose in distaste.

"It just doesn't sound very… _Christmasy_!" she said. "Christmas is supposed to be about love, and joy, and peace—you know, warm, happy feelings like that? Concealed weaponry kind of says the exact opposite, don't you think?" Jenkins frowned as he considered her opinion.

"Hmmm. Perhaps you're right," he conceded. "Besides, a dagger is a very personal thing; one needs to handle it, test its balance, see how it's constructed, see if they have a kinship with it."

"A _kinship_?" asked the Librarian, giving him a distasteful look. "Are you killing people with it or are you _dating_ it?" Jenkins cast her a diffident look and then stuck his tongue out at her. Cassandra giggled at the sight; her husband had certainly loosened up since she'd first met him several years ago, though she was still usually the only one who got to see this more playful side of the normally staid man.

"If you had been brought up in the times that _I_ was brought up in, you would understand!" he huffed. Cassandra rolled her eyes with exaggerated drama.

" _Here_ we go again!" she sighed loudly. "You were one of those poor, sad little knights who had to walk five miles one way every day just to get to get to the castle! Barefoot. Through a foot of snow. And uphill. Against the wind. With no coat or hat or gloves. All you had was a warm potato in your pocket to keep your fingers from freezing off!" Jenkins raised his head and sniffed as he smoothed his tie.

"It was _ten_ miles, actually," he answered haughtily. "And you forgot that I was chased by a pack of hungry wolves nearly every day!"

"Omigod! How could I have _possibly_ forgotten about the _wolves_!" Cassandra cried, throwing both hands up in mock horror. "That pack of hungry, rabid wolves that chased you over that cold, snowy, rocky ground! How many wolves were there in that pack, anyway—Ten? Fifteen?"

"Twenty-five!" he answered primly. "And they weren't just the ordinary, run-of-the-mill wolves, either: They were _dire wolves_!" He clucked his tongue as he shook his head somberly. He raised a fist and shook his finger at her for emphasis, his face registering urgent concern.

"I tell you, my dear, each and every day that I survived the ordeal of going to the castle and home again was nothing short of a _miracle_!" Cassandra flopped back in her chair and burst into laughter at his perfect deadpan delivery, unable to keep her face straight any longer. Jenkins reacted with a sour frown.

"You _laugh_ at my misfortune!" he grumbled, and he began to gather his papers, roughly straightening them in his "offended" state and acting as if he was about to storm out of the workroom. "I'm the very picture of tragedy, and you _laugh_!" He stood up, and Cassandra scrambled up out of her chair. She rushed from behind her desk and threw her arms around Jenkins to hold onto him tightly.

"You poor, pathetic baby!" she cooed, then stood up on tiptoe to give him a quick, soft kiss. "I'm sorry! Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Jenkins raised his chin as he cocked his head and gazed off into the distance.

"There might be _something_ you could do…" he replied invitingly, his long arms slipping around her tiny body. One large hand traveling lightly over her back and came to rest on her buttock. He paused just long enough to give it a firm squeeze, then quickly slid his hand down and underneath her short skirt. Cassandra squealed with surprise and tried to jump away from him, but he only tightened his other arm to hold her in place.

"Jenkins! Someone could walk in any time!" she scolded him in a low voice, but he noticed that her eyes were gleaming.

"Then perhaps we should find a more private place to continue this discussion?" he asked, his voice soft and seductive. A little thrill of excitement trembled through the Librarian's body. She looked up into his warm brown eyes and smiled.

"How about the Artic Wasteland Room?" she asked in an innocent tone, her blue eyes wide and guileless. "It'll remind you of your tragic, yet somehow _miraculous_ , youth!" Jenkins blinked down at her for a moment as her words sank in. When they finally registered, a fierce scowl overtook his still-boyish features.

"You are the _wickedest_ of minxes!" he growled. He quickly dropped back into his chair, pulling her down with him. He turned and bent the shrieking woman over his lap and, between her laughter and shrieks, the immortal began to lightly spank her playfully.

"Are you sorry for being so heartless?" he asked archly, pausing, his hand held in the air and at the ready. "Do you repent of your cruelty?" Cassandra squirmed on his lap until she could turn her head and look at him.

"Never!" she answered defiantly. He immediately began to spank her again, murmuring platitudes about how sorry he was to have to punish her in such a unsavory fashion.

"Oh, my god, you two! Stop it!"

Jenkins jerked his body around at the sound of the new voice, nearly spilling Cassandra onto the floor. She quickly clambered back to her feet, panting, pushing her long red hair out of her equally red face. Standing behind them was Ezekiel Jones, a huge submarine sandwich in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other, a look of absolute disgust on his face.

"Seriously, _nobody_ wants to see your foreplay!" He then shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head, his expression going from one of revulsion to one of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "But then again, I suppose there are _some_ people who would want to see that, but those people are very sick and disturbed individuals who need a _lot_ of professional help…"

"Stop spying on us!" scolded Cassandra, flustered, as she quickly tried to smooth down her clothes. Jones snorted in derision.

"It's not spying if you're snogging in the middle of a public room!" he replied acidly. He pointed at his desk, near Cassandra's, with his chin. "OI! You better not have been shagging on _my_ desk, either!" Jenkins stood next to Cassandra and reached out to take her hand in his.

"Come, my dear," he said calmly, as though they were merely going for a walk in the park. "I think it's time for us to go and finish our…um… _conversation_ elsewhere. Someplace a little more private."

"Someplace like, oh, I don't know—your _bedroom_ , maybe?!" offered Ezekiel loudly. Jenkins ignored him as he led his wife past the thief.

"Ezekiel!" snapped Cassandra, but Jenkins patted her hand reassuringly.

"Pay him no mind, my love; Mr. Jones is just an angry little man. We should really pity him rather than judge him!" he said as he escorted Cassandra out of the workroom. Jones watched them disappear into the corridor, shaking his head.

"Oh, yeah? Well, _I_ feel sorry for _you_!" he yelled after them. "You have the privilege of living with Ezekiel Jones, but all _you_ want to do is paw each other like a couple of horny teenagers!" He turned away from the doorway and began to head toward the Library's theater room.

"They call _me_ pathetic!" he muttered to himself, taking a drink from his soda and shaking his head in wonder at how anyone could not be just as fascinated by Ezekiel Jones as Ezekiel Jones was. "Poor bloody geeks—they're the poster children for pathetic-ness!"


	3. Cookies

Jenkins pushed the book cart around the corner, its time-worn wheels squealing faintly in protest, then headed along a long row of ranges to continue reshelving the stacks of books piled onto the cart. He tilted his head up, reading the range labels as he went, distractedly humming a slightly bawdy tavern song from his youth when his nose suddenly picked up an unexpected scent.

He halted and stood stock still, his tall frame tense and alert as he cocked his head and sniffed the air like a hunting hound.

Cinnamon.

Cardamom.

Ginger.

Cloves.

Warm, alluring spices that coyly beckoned him like a high-priced courtesan.

_Cookies!_

Someone was baking cookies! Jenkins abandoned the book cart, turned and made a beeline straight for the Annex kitchen, all thought of reshelving totally forgotten. He hurried down the steep staircase from the mezzanine level and rushed along the corridor that led to the kitchen. With each long stride, the intoxicating smell of fresh-baked cookies grew stronger and more irresistible, and his mouth watered at the thought of biting into one of the soft, sweet spicy confections, still warm from the oven.

At last, he reached the kitchen and shoved the door open. He was hit full in the face with the heady smell of spices, caramelizing sugar and vanilla. He smiled with glee when he saw Cassandra turn from the oven with a baking sheet full of spice cookies in her mitted hand, not even a full minute from the oven. She squeaked in surprise when she saw him.

"Jenkins! I thought you were going to be working upstairs all day today!"

"That was before I smelled these delicious cookies!" he answered happily as he started across the kitchen, his brown eyes shining as he rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Jenkins, _NO_!" Cassandra ordered, turning her body so that she was now between the sheet of cookies and her greedy husband. "These are for the Christmas party at the children's hospital this evening!" Jenkins craned his neck as he tried to find an opening to steal one of the cookies.

"I only want a sample!" he whined petulantly. "I'm sure the children won't miss just _one_ cookie..."

"Except it's _never_ just one cookie with you!" Cassandra scolded, dancing away from him so that he was practically chasing her around the kitchen. "You always end up gobbling down a dozen or more!"

"I think you're exaggerating somewhat, my dear," Jenkins protested. He feinted with one hand, and as Cassandra moved the cookies away from it, he reached easily over her shoulder and snatched one of the tasty treats from the baking sheet.

"Jenkins!" the Librarian cried in frustration. He popped the cookie into his mouth and chewed, his head lolling back, and he groaned with pleasure at the sweet, spicy taste that exploded on his tongue.

"Oh! Cassandra! These are absolutely _delightful_!" he gushed around the mouthful of cookie. "You've outdone yourself this year, I think!" He stretched his long arm out for a second cookie.

"If I could just have _one_ more..." he said. Cassandra whirled around and to face him with narrowed eyes and her lips pressed tightly together.

"NO!" she repeated, more loudly this time. "No more! I mean it!" Jenkins ignored her and reached for another cookie. Cassandra violently jerked the baking sheet away, at the same time running into the countertop. In the blink of an eye, all of the remaining cookies went flying from the baking sheet and onto floor. From out of nowhere, Franklin shot across the floor and began to gobble up the ill-fated cookies as fast he could cram them between his jaws. Caretaker and Librarian gaped at the gorging tea dragon and the mess he was making, momentarily stunned, then Jenkins turned his head slowly toward his wife.

"Oh, dear!" he said, guilt-stricken. "Cassandra, I am _so_ sorry…!" Cassandra dropped the empty baking sheet onto the countertop and, with her eyes closed, took a deep, calming breath. All the while, Jenkins babbled apologies. When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was the bowl containing the eggs, vanilla and sugar she had been beating into a soft, creamy paste in preparation for her next batch of cookies. In san irresistible fit of pique, she reached out and scooped up a large handful of the butter and egg mixture, turned around, and mashed it squarely into Jenkins's face.

"GAH!" he squawked loudly as he jumped back from her. He began digging the sticky mess out of his eyes and wiping it from his face, taking care to keep it from dripping onto his expensive suit. He instinctively licked his lips at the same time, and the taste of soft, warm butter and sugar somehow took the edge off of his irritation as he eyed her warily.

"It's your own fault!" she informed him angrily. "I warned you!" That's when he caught sight of a large glass bowl of melted chocolate on the countertop behind her.

"Indeed you did," he rumbled amiably— _too_ amiably. Cassandra's guard went up, but it was too late. Quick as a wink, Jenkins leaned forward, his long arm shooting out and snatching up the bowl of chocolate. Cassandra ducked to the side, but he was still able to hold the bowl over her head and turn it over. The warm liquid chocolate spilled onto the top of her head and quickly slid over it to coat her long red hair. A thick stream cascaded over her forehead and her face.

"JENKINS!" she shrieked in shock, jumping backward, her shoulders hunched and her mouth hanging open as chocolate dripped onto her clothes and the floor. Franklin scrambled over and began to lick up the dark blobs. Jenkins merely smiled in satisfaction as he plunked the bowl back onto the counter.

"What's good for gander is good for the goose!" he quipped, greatly pleased with himself. Before he could rest on his laurels, however, Cassandra whirled around and grabbed the carton of raw eggs, and began to furiously pelt him with them.

As he ran around the counter trying to escape the angry, egg-hurling Librarian, he grabbed a nearly-full bag of flour. Taking it up with both hands, he spun around and swung the open end of the bag at Cassandra, and flour exploded all over her, himself, Franklin and the entire kitchen. The two began to cough and splutter, waving their hands in an attempt to clear the floury air. Franklin shook the flour from his head and sneezed several times in succession before going off to snuffle around the floor for crumbs of spice cookie that he might have missed earlier.

When the air cleared enough, Librarian and Caretaker looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. Jenkins stepped forward and took his chocolate and flour-coated wife into his arms and kissed her, absolutely heedless of his suit now. Cassandra enthusiastically kissed him back, running her fingers into his sticky, egg and flour-encrusted hair. When the kiss ended, they stayed close, affectionately touching the tips of their gooey noses together and grinning like idiots. The kitchen door banged open.

"What! The! HELL?!" yelled Eve Baird as her eyes took in the destruction. Raw eggs, melted chocolate, flour and something that looked like whipped butter were all over the floor, the countertop, the cabinets and appliances. Franklin was rolling around in a particularly large glop of butter, squealing with glee. She looked up at the man and the woman staring back at her, both of them similarly coated. Jenkins pulled himself up to his full height and peered down his nose at the appalled Guardian.

"We're just doing a little baking, Colonel, that's all. Nothing to become alarmed about, I assure you," he said breezily. He then turned back to Cassandra and kissed her again. Franklin danced around their feet for a moment, yipping for their attention. When they ignored him, the little dragon turned his large black eyes to Eve, and he began bounding toward her.

"Oh, no you _don't_!" she warned him threateningly as she began backing out of the kitchen, her hands held out front of her in a vain attempt to save her favorite olive-colored jumpsuit from the sticky mess covering the little reptile. With a screech of joy, Franklin rushed at the wide-eyed Guardian and leaped into her arms just as she passed through the kitchen doorway. Just before the door swung shut, Cassandra and Jenkins heard a loud yelp come from the tall blonde, followed by a string of ecstatic yips and squeals, then a loud, resigned sigh.

"Yeah, okay," Eve's low voice grumbled over the whines and grunts. "I love you, too, Franklin!"

"I love you, Cassandra," Jenkins murmured, kissing his wife's forehead, then happily licked the chocolate from his lips. Cassandra looked up at him, unable to repress the smile that came to her face.

"Yeah, okay," she replied, perfectly mimicking Baird's grudging surrender to Franklin's affectionate assault. "I love you, too, sweetie…"


	4. Mischief

A long arm snaked its way amongst the crowded contents of the refrigerator until, at last, it came to the large glass jug of Flynn Carsen's mother's egg nog. The large hand grabbed the jug and ever so carefully pulled it back, gingerly passing though all of the other cartons, boxes, bottles and jars crammed onto the top shelf. When the egg nog was finally free of its chilly prison, there was a soft sigh of satisfaction.

Jenkins quickly flipped open the cap on the gallon-sized ice tea jug, then lifted the entire thing to his lips. He was able to chug down a couple of large swallows before the kitchen light snapped on, startling him. With a low grunt of surprise, a splash of egg nog spattered onto his shirtfront as he quickly lowered the jug; he was lucky not to have dropped it.

"Jenkins! What the hell, man?!" Jacob Stone barked at the Caretaker as Jenkins whirled around, a guilt-stricken look on his face. He realized he still had egg nog on his mouth and quickly to lick it off with his tongue.

"You know how disgusting that is?" Stone went on, giving the nog thief a stern glare of disapproval. "And I bet you were just gonna put that right back in the fridge, too, weren'tcha?" Recovering from his initial surprise, Jenkins stood upright and returned the Librarian's glare.

"I was just having a little taste…!" he began defensively.

"Nobody wants to drink out of that after you've slobbered all over it!" Jake cut him off, taking a couple of steps forward and poking a finger at the immortal. "You want a drink of somethin', use a freakin' _glass_ , man!"

It suddenly struck Jenkins how odd it was for Jacob Stone to be scolding _him_ for a misdeed; it was usually the other way around. The absurdity of the situation struck Jenkins as more than a little amusing, and a large smile appeared on his face.

"Oh, you think this is funny?!" demanded Jake. He charged past Jenkins and went to the fridge, jerked open the door. He reached in and pulled out a can of soda and cracked it open. He took a quick sip and then turned back to Jenkins, slamming the fridge door shut at the same time.

"It's _not_ funny! That's how colds and flu and germs and shit get spread around—there's a goddamn _pandemic_ goin' on, ya know!"

"I do not get sick…" Jenkins started to say.

" _But other people do_!" Jake shot back hotly. "Plus—" He flapped his free hand in the air frantically as he tried to drive his point home. "It's just plain rude, and you should _know_ better! Didn't your mama ever teach ya any better?!" Jenkins didn't say anything for several seconds, only stared at Jake with dead, flat eyes.

"She did _not_ , actually," he replied stiffly. The immortal didn't like to be reminded of his childhood and the cold, distant mother who had resented his very existence. The memories of that isolated, lonely childhood were still very much alive and painful for him. Jacob saw the sudden tensing of the old man's shoulders, and he immediately realized his mistake.

"Hey, Jenkins, look—I'm sorry, man," he said as remorse squelched his initial anger. He stepped hesitantly towards the Caretaker. "And I'm sorry for yellin' at you like that, earlier, too. I was just mad about somethin' Jones did this morning and I took it out on you, that's all." The younger man stuck his hand out awkwardly towards Jenkins. "I was totally outta line and I...I'm really sorry."

Jenkins shifted the jug to the crook of his left elbow and then reached out his right hand to clasp Jake's, gave it a firm shake.

"Apology accepted," he said simply. Jake withdrew his hand and raised it to nervously rub the back of his messy head of brown hair.

"So, um…we're good here, then, right?" he asked anxiously. Jenkins gave him a lopsided smile and nodded.

"We are 'good;, as you say," he assured the young Librarian. "And I can certainly understand your frustration where Mr. Jones is concerned. He has an uncanny knack for bringing out the worst in people sometimes."

"I think that little freak just does it for fun!" grumbled Jake, his upper lip curling into a faint snarl of disgust before he took another swig from his soda. "Well, someday he's gonna go too far and I'm gonna take that little rat bastard down a peg or two!" Jenkins lowered his chin slightly and gave Jacob a long, pointed look.

"I've...been working on a substance to treat different kinds of inflammation that is comprised mostly of nettle leaves," said Jenkins in careful, disinterested tone, seeming to change the subject of their conversation entirely. He shifted the heavy jug of egg nog to hold it in the crook of his other arm.

" _Very_ itchy and irritating things, nettle leaves, but mostly harmless." Jenkins looked down at his feet as though checking to see if his shoes were properly tied.

"It's in a bright red gel form right now, in a large beaker in my lab." Jenkins raised his eyes again and looked straight into Jacob's. "It would be a _terrible_ shame if any of it were to find its way into something someone may use on a daily basis—something like, oh, I don't know—shampoo, maybe? Or bath gel?" A huge grin split the historian's face as he realized what Jenkins was saying.

"Yeah… Yeah, that _would_ be a shame, wouldn't it?" agreed Stone; he could already see Jones dancing around their apartment, scratching like mad at the relentless, infuriating itchiness caused by bathing in nettle-infused bath gel. Of course he wouldn't want to do something like that at Christmastime; April Fool's Day would be here in no time, though.

Stone, his mood much lighter now, flashed a happy smile at the immortal. "See ya around, J!" He shoved the kitchen door open and disappeared. Jenkins watched him leave the kitchen, then waited a few seconds just to make sure the Librarian didn't come back.

As soon as he felt it was safe, Jenkins quickly hoisted the jug up to his lips and took several more chugs of the thick, sweet egg nog. When he was finished, he lowered the jug, closed the lid and quickly shoved it back into the refrigerator. Feeling the warmth from the rum spreading pleasantly through his body, he licked the residue from his smiling lips. He stopped just long enough to wet a cloth and dab the egg nog he had spilled onto his shirt earlier. When he was satisfied, raised his silvery head, adjusted his coat, then briskly exited the kitchen to go in search of his lovely young wife.


	5. Downtime

Cassandra's eyes fluttered open in the dimly-lit bedroom, and as soon as she was thinking coherently after a night of sound sleep, she rolled them over to look at the heavy drapes covering the room's windows. She could see a faint outline of dawning light around their edges and guessed that it must be around seven o'clock in the morning.

The Librarian closed her eyes and sighed softly. Jenkins would already be up and busy with his day's work. Today was Cassandra's day off, and even though he always insisted that she take the time for herself, he only rarely took a whole day off himself. When she pointed out the hypocrisy, he gently replied that he was immortal, and therefore his mind and body didn't need nearly as much rest as her mortal one did. Besides, he had continued, there was far too much work to do around the Library that only he could do. He was always careful to spend as much time as he could with her during each and every day, but work always intervened and interrupted their time together. It had been months since they'd last taken some time off together just for themselves.

She closed her eyes resignedly and pulled the blankets over her head as she remembered asking him again yesterday if he would please consider taking today off with her. But the Caretaker, distracted by his ever-present work, hadn't even looked up as he apologized perfunctorily and declined. There was simply too much for him to do right now, he'd said. She felt again now the heavy disappointment that she'd felt the day before. Heaving another loud sigh, she shoved the depressing thoughts away; this was all just one of the downsides of being a Librarian, that's all.

"Just suck it up and soldier on, cupcake!" she mumbled to herself as she threw the blankets off and prepared to get out of bed.

"Did you say something, my dear?" Cassandra shrieked in fright and flopped her body around on the mattress to face the voice behind her; she was stunned to find Jenkins there, still in bed, still in his pajamas, laying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. Cassandra gaped at him in surprise.

"Jenkins? You're still here!" she exclaimed. She was astonished at first, but then she was overcome with concern. "Wait— _why_ are you still here? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" he chuckled, and smiled. He stretched out his free hand and lightly stroked her cheek. "But I saw how sad you were yesterday when I told you that I couldn't take the day off—"

"It's okay, Jenkins, I understand. You don't have to interrupt your work on my account!" she cut in quickly, but Jenkins only shook his head and wouldn't let her go any further.

"I do indeed need to interrupt my work, especially for you!" he answered solemnly. "When I realized how disappointed you were, I began thinking—and I realized that I was being a complete fool to be so neglectful of you over the last few years!"

"But you haven't been neglectful—"

"Not intentionally, no," he answered. "But I began looking around and it suddenly hit me that there is actually very little around here that _has_ to be handled by me alone. I was simply so used to being the only one who did them that it never really occurred to me that someone else could do them just as easily, with a bit a training, of course. There are three other perfectly adequate Librarians now, and one Guardian; there are plenty of hands to help with the work!" The way her blue eyes lit up with joy nearly took his breath away.

"So—does that mean that you'll start taking a day off with me soon?" she asked excitedly. Jenkins smiled like a cat that eaten the canary.

"Better than that!" he rumbled mysteriously.

"What could be better than that?" Cassandra laughed. Jenkins tipped his head back as he gazed at her, looking very pleased.

"I'm going to give you one of your Christmas presents early," he said, savoring her happiness.

"What present?"

"Beginning _today_ , I will take your day off with you, every week," he announced proudly. Cassandra could barely believe her ears.

"For how long?" she asked, not daring to hope. Jenkins beamed like the sun.

"Until you decide you're sick of my company!"

The Librarian stared at him for several seconds, stunned. Then, with shrill squeals of glee, she scooched across the bed and threw herself against his warm body, her arms threading themselves around his neck and holding him close. His laughter rumbled in her ear like thunder, and she soon felt both of his arms encircling her to press her gently to himself in return.

"I will _never_ be sick of your company!" she whispered fiercely before turning her face up to look at him. "Thank you, Galahad; you have no idea how much this means to me!" He awkwardly lowered his head to give her lips a quick peck.

"You are entirely welcome, my love," he said, adjusting his position in order to hold her more comfortably. "So—how shall we spend our first day off together?" His wife giggled softly.

"I want to spend it right here, in bed, with you!" she declared happily, nestling against his strong, warm body.

" _All_ day?" he chuckled.

"All day!" she affirmed, and Jenkins kissed the top of her messy red hair.

"Then all day in bed is what you shall have!" he said with finality, and let his eyes close as he enjoyed the feel of his beautiful Librarian's skin against his and the soft scent of her hair as it drifted into his nose.


	6. Hot and Sweet

Jenkins hopped down from the tall stool behind his desk and raised his long arms high into the air over his head. He closed his eyes and grimaced as he stretched his stiff back and arms, groaning softly in the process.

He dropped his arms and rolled his shoulders; he heard some faint popping sounds as he forced the aching muscles to move. The big Regulator wall clock quietly chimed the hour in the silent Annex, and Jenkins checked his watch against it, confirmed that he'd been working nonstop for eight solid hours, hunched over one of Merlin's ancient tomes of magic. No wonder his ancient body ached so!

The immortal breathed in a deep lungful of air and exhaled it through his mouth as he rubbed his tired eyes. He looked around at the festively-decorated workroom, the huge Christmas tree with a pile of gifts beneath its twinkling branches, all of the tinsel and wreaths and garlands of holly and ivy that Cassandra had insisted on putting up. He kept expecting to hear something, _anything_ —an argument between Jacob and Ezekiel, a question from Eve, the incessant chatter of Flynn about his latest obsession, Cassandra softly humming the latest pop tune as she worked. But the Annex was quiet as the grave today; everyone was out on a mission. Even Franklin was unusually subdued, choosing to spend the entire day curled up in a box on the nearby table, napping. The Caretaker smiled to himself and shook his head in wonder; not so long ago he would've been content with all the silence and solitude, but now? God help him, but now he was actually feeling a little bit _lonely._ He snorted at the thought—just wait until he told Cassandra about _this_!

A small surge of sadness rose up within him at the thought of his treasured wife. He always missed her especially when the Librarians were on a mission. But that's what Librarians do, of course—they go out on missions, even during the holiday season, and regardless of who might be waiting for them back in the Library. He just hoped that she would be home before Christmas.

Jenkins, out of pure curiosity, had done some discreet research and discovered that Cassandra was the very first married Librarian in the entire history of the Library. He hadn't informed anyone of that fact yet; he instead chose to keep it to himself for now and ponder on it. The Library didn't allow things to happen within its confines for no reason, and Jenkins was trying to puzzle out what the reason might be for allowing a Librarian to not only marry a Caretaker, but to also be Sealed by a Tree of Love. The naturally pessimistic side of him fervently hoped that it wasn't because the Library had some nefarious ulterior motive for allowing the two of them to join together…

Jenkins's dark thoughts were driven away suddenly by the loud jangling of the old candlestick phone on his desk. He lunged and eagerly snatched the handset off of its hook and placed it to his ear while his other hand grabbed the body of the phone to pull it closer.

"Yes?!" he said loudly, unable to keep a note of hope from his voice.

"Hi, sweetie!" came Cassandra's wonderful, comforting voice, and the Caretaker's heart raced with happiness. "You miss me yet?"

"With every fiber of my being!" he answered adoringly. His voice then changed in tone to something low and seductive. "I can't wait for you to come home, my dear; Little Jenkins has been waiting very impatiently for you!" Loud sounds of disgust sounded in the background.

"Ugh! DUDE! _Speaker phone_!" yelled Ezekiel.

"I'm gonna have to soak my head in a bucket of brain bleach now to get _that_ picture outta my mind!" added Jacob sourly. Jenkins heard Eve Baird shushing them.

"A gentleman wouldn't eavesdrop on a married couple who had been parted for as long as Cassandra and I have," the Caretaker scolded them. He then heard a snort of derision.

"It's only been _fourteen hours_!" Stone yelled sarcastically.

"Every hour without Cassandra in my arms feels like a century!" Jenkins retorted archly.

"Awwww, Jenkins!" his wife cooed. "That's so _sweet_!"

"Oh my gawd, you two—get a room already!" sniped Ezekiel.

"Guys!" chided Baird.

"Don't pay any attention to them, sweetie—they're just jealous!" said Cassandra, ignoring the two men as they continued to carp at the happy lovebirds. "I was calling you because I wanted to tell you that we finished the mission early! We'll be home soon, we just have to wrap up a couple of loose ends, first, and that'll be it!"

"In time for Christmas? That's wonderful!" replied Jenkins joyfully. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Yes," answered the Librarian instantly. "We'll be home inside of an hour, and I'd like for you to go put the kettle on and have a nice big pot of hot peppermint tea waiting for me when I come home! With honey! It's freezing cold here and I'm _so_ ready for something hot and sweet to warm me up!"

"Oh, I'll have something hot and sweet waiting for you, my dear!" growled Jenkins lustily. "And the tea, too, of course!"

" _SPEAKER PHONE_!" shouted Jake, Ezekiel and Eve together.


	7. Holiday Cheer

Cassandra turned on the water and let the huge, old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub fill up was steaming hot water. As the water level rose, she went to a shelf and perused the various scented bath oils that filled it. Since it was close to Christmas, she chose one that had a warm, spicy scent reminiscent of gingerbread and carried the bottle to the tub. Humming to herself, she poured a generous amount of the oil into the hot water before setting the bottle on the bath-side table. To her delight, this particular oil frothed into a thick layer of cheerful bubbles.

She turned off the water and then shrugged out of her silken bathrobe. Gingerly, she poked her foot into the water to test the temperature of the water, then carefully lowered her body into the hot, bubbly embrace of her much-anticipated bath. With a deep, contented sigh, she leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the heat of the water and the soothing scent of the oil relax her tired, tense muscles.

A few minutes she heard the bathroom door open and then close quietly. She recognized the carefully approaching footsteps at once: Jenkins. They stopped directly behind her. Her nose picked up the scent of her husband's famous mulled wine.

"Hi, sweetheart!" she greeted him warmly, smiling, her eyes still closed.

"I don't mean to disturb you, but I thought that perhaps you would welcome some holiday cheer," he said warmly. She heard him set two wineglasses on the small table next to the tub.

"That sounds wonderful!" she answered. "Thank you!" There was soft snort from the immortal.

"If you would be so kind as to sit up for a moment, my dear…?" Thinking he wanted to scrub her back or massage her shoulders, Cassandra obligingly sat upright and pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them as she rested her forehead on top of her knees, the water splashing softly around her. She heard the puzzling sound of cloth dropping to the floor; just as she was about to ask about it, she suddenly heard the splash of water and felt Jenkins's body—his naked body—sliding into the water behind her.

"OH!" she squealed in surprise, her eyes popping open as she raised her head. She twisted around to look at him and found her husband making himself comfortable against the gently sloping back of the tub. "Jenkins! What are you doing?!"

"I told you—I'm bringing you some holiday cheer!" he answered loftily, gazing steadily into her blue eyes. He raised a hand and patted his bare chest. "Now lie back and relax!" Grinning from ear to ear, Cassandra turned her body around and scooted back toward Jenkins. She lay back against his warm body, and immediately one arm slipped around her small body to hold her close. His other hand plucked one of the glasses from the table and offered it to her.

"Wine, my love?"

"Of course!" She took the glass and sipped from it; the hot, strong, spice-infused red wine filled her mouth with warmth and the pleasant, slightly bitter tang of tannin.

"Mmmmmm! That's just what I needed! Thanks!"

"You're very welcome," he answered, then took a sip from his own glass. "I thought you might enjoy a little TLC this evening."

"Always the caretaker!" she giggled. The strong wine and the hot bath were already combining to make her feel lightheaded. His free hand slid up to lightly cup her left breast and gave it a slow, gentle squeeze while his thumb slowly rubbed its nipple. At the same time, he lowered his head to nibble her right ear lobe, sending a warm thrill of electricity throughout her body. She wriggled against him happily, tilting her head to make it easier for him to move from nibbling her earlobe to nibbling the side of her neck. She was rewarded with the sensation of his rapidly swelling manhood pressing into the soft flesh of her buttocks. She nearly purred with contentment as she leaned even further into him and raised her head to look up into his face. Cassandra narrowed her eyes and frowned in melodramatic suspicion.

"I hope you're not taking care of the _other_ Librarians like this!" Jenkins snorted dismissively.

"The other Librarians are on their own!" he growled huskily. "I've chosen to lavish all of my attention and all of my considerable…um… _resources_ , on you alone, my love!" He bent his head to kiss her shoulder, then moved slowly up the side of her long neck, gently biting her pale, smooth skin.

"My sweet little—(kiss)—beautiful—(kiss)—alluring—(kiss)—scarlet-haired—(kiss)— Librarian goddess!" He then raised his hand from her breast to turn her face toward his. His lips found hers and he kissed her deeply, passionately, desire lancing though his large frame as he tasted the spices and citrus on her tongue and lips. When the kiss finally ended, both were panting slightly, giddy with wine and lust.

"I don't know about you, but I think I've been in the water long enough," whispered Cassandra roughly, her eyes dark blue and wide as they stared up into his, almost black in the dim room and wild-looking. He took the wine glass from her and set both of them on the table without a word. Reading his mind, Cassandra quickly stood up in the bathtub, and Jenkins was right behind her. They climbed out of the tub, but just as Cassandra went to pick up her robe, Jenkins, dripping water all over the floor, scooped up the wet, naked woman and started to carry her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

"Jenkins!" she cried, the air chilling her wet skin into gooseflesh. "Wait! I'm all wet!"

"Good!" he grunted, deadpan, as he approached their large bed. "We can dispense with the foreplay, then!"

"Jenkins!" she laughed, squirming in his slippery arms to playfully hit his shoulder. "You're awful!" He dropped her onto the bed, then clambered in after her. He straddled her small body on his hands and knees.

"It's true," he answered softly. "I'm an awful man, who loves you an awful lot!" He lowered his head to gently kiss her on the lips. As he raised his head again, she ran the fingers of both her hands up his damp chest and over his broad shoulders, then into his wet, silver-white hair.

"Does that mean we can keep the foreplay after all?" she asked sweetly. Jenkins rolled his eyes and huffed a dramatic sigh, and he began to crawl backwards on his hands and knees over her body.

"A caretaker's work is _never_ done!" he complained with mock pathos as he moved her legs apart. He smiled with satisfaction when her laughter suddenly changed to sharp cries of pleasure after he lowered his head and began to dispense some much-deserved holiday cheer to his beloved Cassandra.


	8. Nonsense

"NO! I will _not_ do this, Cassandra, not even for you!" said Jenkins, his brow beetling as he ferociously scowled down at his wife. Cassandra, not at all frightened by the display, pressed her lips together and silently sighed, her eyes unwaveringly staring up into his.

"Jenkins, _please_!" she continued patiently.

"No! My mind is made up! It's foolish and degrading and I refuse to abase myself like that! You're just going to have to make do without me!" He turned away and started lumbering toward the lab's door; Cassandra had to trot quickly to plant herself in front of him. She felt somewhat like a chipmunk trying to halt a tank, but he _did_ stop.

"Come on, Jenkins! We're all going to do it! We're even going to include Franklin!" the Librarian pleaded. "Even _Eve_ said she would do it, and you know how _she_ feels about Christmas!" Jenkins blinked at that, taken slightly aback by that bit of information.

"Colonel Baird is going to participate in this…this… _nonsense_?" he asked, cocking his head in disbelief. "I can hardly believe _that_!"

"But it's true!" confirmed Cassandra eagerly, seeing a crack in her stubborn husband's sense of propriety. She stepped closer and reached her hands out to lay them on his upper arms as she continued to plead her case.

"Eve thinks it's all silly, too, but she also said it gives us a chance to have a little bit of fun! After all of the crap that's gone on this year between the election and the pandemic and all of the protests and riots that have going on, especially here in Portland—not to mention all of the missions we've had to go on at the same time—she thinks a little year-end silliness is good for morale." Eve actually _hadn't_ said any of those things, but Cassandra figured that her grouchy old bear of a hubby didn't need to know that just yet. "She's all for it!"

Jenkins tucked his chin in and frowned slightly as he considered her words. Cassandra adored Christmas and everything associated with, that was no secret. Every year she tried to rope everyone into some sort of Christmas-themed activity, with varying degrees of success. Jenkins usually gave in and indulged his wife—after all, at the tender age of three, her own parents had told her that Santa Claus didn't exist and refused to allow her to participate in any holiday activities at home or at school. It would be too much of a distraction from her studies, they said. So it was understandable that his wife would now want to make up for lost time. But still, even Jenkins had his limits. What Cassandra had planned for this year was just… _ridiculous_. Immature. Undignified. _Very_ undignified…

He opened his mouth to say as much yet again, but she had read his response on his stony face. She dropped her shoulders in defeat and lowered her head with a small sigh.

"Okay, okay...you win," she said sadly, and turned away from him. "I was just hoping to, like...create a happy memory of us. You know— _all_ of us doing something fun, _together_ , that's all." She took a few steps away from him, heaved a heavier, world-weary sigh, then forced some tears into her voice. "We'll just have do it without you, I guess. It won't be the same, of course, but that's okay. I guess..."

She could almost hear the guilt pin the immortal to the wall like a bug onto a specimen board. He gave a low, frustrated huff and helplessly flapped his large hands in the air.

"All right! All right! I'll do it!" he groaned. He knew his wife well enough by now to know that he'd been played. He had to hand it to her—she had him thoroughly and completely wrapped around her little finger. But he supposed he only had himself to blame for that; he couldn't help doing whatever he could to make his young wife happy, even if it did cost him a bit of his dignity; he knew deep down inside that she would _never_ ask anything of him that would truly degrade or humiliate him.

"Really?" she yelped brightly, spinning around, a look of sheer joy on her face. He looked back with a pointed glare.

"As if you didn't already know that I would cave in to your blatant guilt-mongering!" he answered with mock sternness. "Really, my dear, you're absolutely shameless sometimes!" She ran over and threw her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and gave him a resounding kiss on the lips with a loud smack.

"I love you!" she cooed. Jenkins only snorted.

"And I must love you, too, if I'm willing to do something so unbecoming to a man of my position!" he grumbled, but she heard the affection in his voice.

"I suppose we should go and get this over with, then, shall we?" he said with false petulance, disentangling himself from her arms before standing aside to allow her to skip happily through the laboratory door.

* * *

That Christmas there was a new addition to the walls of the Annex workroom, one that remained there for centuries afterward. Hanging among the various historical documents, certificates, artifacts and degrees was a single photograph, a grouping of one Guardian, four Librarians, one Caretaker and a tea dragon.

The three youngest Librarians mugged for the camera as they laughingly enacted the "The Three Wise Monkeys". Behind them, the Guardian held her Librarian bent over backwards in a classic tango dip as they smooched beneath a sprig of mistletoe that the tall blonde woman held over their heads. The Caretaker stood stiffly, the tea dragon lolling on his back in the man's arms, frantically stretching out his little paws to bat at the pretty redheaded eLibrarian next to him. All were wearing brightly-colored, gaudily-decorated Christmas sweaters, along with a set of fake Christmas reindeer antlers that lit up. Everyone in the photograph also wore a big red rubber clown nose—even the tea dragon. But the thing that everyone always commented on when they saw the photograph was how mightily the old Caretaker tried to keep a stern, unamused expression on his face—and failing miserably. There was a plainly visible smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he gazed into the camera, and his dark eyes were unmistakably sparkling.

"I _wasn't_ smiling," he always snapped churlishly at anyone who dared to point this out it to him, especially when they tried to use it as proof positive that he wasn't _nearly_ as bad-tempered and annoyed by life as he made himself out to be.

"I had _indigestion_ that day, that's all it was!"

And, of course, no one believed him for a moment.


	9. Temptation

Franklin simply couldn't resist the temptation.

It was Winter Festival time again; Franklin knew it was coming soon when he saw Chá Huā, the young human female, and her mate, Bái Shān, pushing cartload after cartload of boxes filled with colorful, shiny decorations into the Annex workroom. Franklin squealed with delight and bolted from one box to the next, poking his long head inside each one to see the wondrous baubles inside that he knew were soon going to be hung on a tall pine tree.

Not long after the last load of decorations arrived, the magic door glowed to life and swung open, allowing a bitterly cold blast of air to enter the warm room, sending a chill up the little dragon's back. Ezekiel, Jacob, Eve and Flynn clomped into the room, struggling to pull a huge tree through the door, its branches bound up roughly with rope, with much shouting and tugging. When it was finally inside, the magic door swung closed again, and the humans collapsed onto various chairs, panting to catch their breath. Bái Shān appeared with a large tray of steaming mugs for everyone, and they were gratefully accepted by the tired, cold humans. There was a mug for Chá Huā, also, and she gave her mate a happy kiss as a reward. Bái Shān had a mug, too; he poured a bit of its contents into a shallow saucer and set it down on the floor for Franklin. The tea dragon bounded over and sniffed it, instantly recognized the scent of what humans called "hot chocolate", a special drink that was always made at this time of year. Franklin yipped excitedly and began to lap up the rapidly cooling chocolate, even going so far as to lick the saucer clean. When he was finished, he turned his attention to the others.

The others had already placed the tree into a special stand. Jake pulled out a knife and cut the rope binding the tree's branches, and they fell back into place, sending bits of snow and ice onto the wooden floor. Eve, the tall yellow-haired female, quickly mopped up the melting snow while the others began to pull out strings of lights and colorful balls. The young humans had to chase the intensely curious Franklin away from the boxes several times, shouting his name, clapping their hands at him, even stomping a foot in order to frighten him off. Finally, Bái Shān rumbled quietly but sternly for the excited little dragon to come away from the boxes. Not the Franklin actually understood the old man's words, exactly, but he _did_ understand the tone, and since Bái Shān was the patriarch of this family, he had to be obeyed.

Franklin reluctantly left the scattered piles of boxes and ran over to leap up onto the long table that had been pushed back to make room for the tree. He flopped onto his belly and watched the activity, his large black eyes taking in every movement. As long as he lay here quietly and stayed away from the tree and the boxes of decorations, he was allowed to remain in the room. But it was _so hard_! Every muscle in his long, thin body ached to jump off of the table and race to the boxes. He was anxious to see one object in particular, but he knew from past winters that it would be the very last thing to be added to the tree.

Franklin had once thought the tree itself was a local deity of some sort, and that the annual Winter Festival was held in order to pay homage to the tree. But last year he finally understood that it wasn't the tree itself that was the deity; the tree was merely where the deity lived during the Winter Festival. The deity was a beautiful, shining creature that looked very much like a human female with wings.

Clearly a goddess with large, outstretched wings like those of an eagle, she was always carefully and reverently placed on the very top of the decorated tree by Chá Huā, presumably so that the goddess could see everything that was going on during the festival. As soon as the goddess was placed on the tree, its lights were turned on, and the humans always cried out with delight at the sight. The colorfully-wrapped boxes would then begin to appear over the course of the next several weeks—offerings for the goddess who lived at the top of the tree.

This made a great deal of sense to the little tea dragon. Franklin had sneaked into the temples in China all the time, at night when the humans weren't around. He'd seen the huge statues of various gods, demons and immortals that filled nearly every nook and cranny of the buildings; even the _Fei Long_ , the magical Sky Dragons, were depicted. This winged human on top of the tree _must_ be a deity, it was the only logical conclusion.

At last, Chá Huā lifted the special box from one of the cardboard boxes. This special box was covered with red, shiny fabric and had a gold-colored clasp. Chá Huā opened the box and reached inside to gingerly lift out the goddess, light sparkling from her beautiful wings and long robes. As Bái Shān and others watched anxiously, Chá Huā climbed the ladder one handed, firmly clasping the goddess against her body with the other. When she reached to the top of the tree, the young woman carefully, _carefully_ set the goddess onto the topmost point of the pine tree, then made some minor adjustments in order to position the goddess just so. When she was satisfied, Chá Huā then backed slowly down the ladder again. The ladder was removed, the room's lights were turned off, and then Ezekiel turned on the many strings of lights wrapped around the tree. They blazed to life, reflecting off of the dozens of colored balls and the yards of golden tinsel threaded amongst the trees branches. Everyone cried out with happiness at the breathtaking sight, then broke into laughter and applause. Flynn quickly grabbed his mug and raised it toward the goddess who now lived at the top of the tree and said something, talking excitedly and animatedly. The others then raised their mugs to the goddess and all then drank. Franklin assumed was some sort of welcoming ceremony for the goddess. When it was finished, everyone began to clear away the cardboard boxes. Usually that was quite a chore, as Franklin loved nothing more than to hide in the empty boxes and play. But this year he completely ignored them, and only stared up at the silent winged goddess at the top of the tree.

Franklin had decided that _this_ Winter Festival, he was going to visit her.

* * *

And so the little dragon waited until well after midnight before he left his nest high in a wall of the Library and made his way to the tree as quickly and as quietly as he could. He kept his long ears up, alert for the sounds of any human activity, but he heard nothing except for the usual nighttime noises of ticking clocks, squeaking mice and the soft popping of wooden shelving as it expanded or contracted.

When he came to the part of the Library where Excalibur lived, Franklin slowed to a crawl. Cal had sharp hearing, almost as sharp as a tea dragon's, and Franklin didn't want to alert the magic sword; Cal's loud barking would almost certainly wake up the others. Franklin peeped around a bookcase and spotted the stone where Cal usually slept; he was relieved to see the sword embedded deeply into the stone nearly up to his hilt. Franklin held his breath as he crept slowly, silently around the bookcase and past the sleeping blade. But Cal only snored softly and occasionally whined in his sleep as he dreamed of glorious battles fought and won with his master, King Arthur, blissfully unaware of the little reptile's passage.

As soon as Franklin was in the next room, he broke into a furious run again. Within a few minutes he was in the workroom. The tree was still lit up, and in the dark, cavernous room it looked ethereal and magical, the perfect home for a deity. Franklin sat up on his haunches and craned his necked upward; the goddess far above glittered invitingly.

With a soft bark of delight, Franklin shot forward. He wove his way between the gaily-wrapped gifts and found the trunk of the tree. He began climbing, his tiny claws biting deep into the tree's shaggy bark as he corkscrewed upward with astonishing speed, expertly avoiding the branches as he homed in on his target. The trunk began to taper the higher he climbed, and so he slowed his pace just a bit, but he continued on with dogged determination. Then, suddenly, there he was, at the top of the pine tree, almost twenty feet above the floor of the workroom. The winged goddess was just above him, her wings sweeping back and upward majestically, twinkling in the lights of the tree.

Then disaster struck.

The combined weights of dragon and deity were too much for the treetop. Before Franklin could react, it suddenly bent forward; Franklin instinctively dug his claws into the tender bark and wrapped his tail around the trunk below his body so that he wouldn't fall, but the shining deity had no such backups. As the treetop bent over, the deity pitched forward at an alarming angle, then slipped completely from its perch. Franklin could only watch, stunned and helpless, as the deity plummeted to the ground and shattered with a loud crash.

_He had killed the tree goddess!_

Screeching in complete terror, Franklin turned his body head-downward and retraced his climb, racing down the tree's trunk. When he was two-thirds of the way down, he propelled himself outward and landed on the floor with a thud, knocking several of the colored glass balls off in the process to smash onto the floor after him. His long tail caught on a strand of tinsel and half-pulled it from the tree, along with a partial string of lights.

Franklin paid all of that no mind, however. He scrambled over to the where the goddess had fallen and skidded to a halt. Her body was broken into hundreds of pieces. _What a wicked creature I am!_ he thought in utter despair.

The little dragon gingerly reached out one paw and touched the severed head of the goddess. Up close now, he could see that the deity hadn't been a living entity at all; she had only been a statue, made out what the tea dragons called "the ice that never melts", what humans called "glass", except that this type of glass was much thicker and heavier than what he was familiar with.

He was relieved that he hadn't actually killed a goddess, but he quickly realized that he was still in a great deal of trouble. Bái Shān had made it very clear in the past that Franklin was not to go anywhere near the festival tree, was not allowed to play with the decorations, and was most certainly not allowed to climb it. He had disobeyed Bái Shān, and now he'd broken something that Chá Huā and the others held in great esteem. Franklin's ears and tail drooped in misery as he realized how angry and disappointed Bái Shān would be when he found out what had happened. He _was_ a wicked little tea dragon, indeed...

"Is someone there?"

Franklin's ears snapped up and forward at the sound of the familiar voice, and his little heart began to pound in fear: It was Bái Shān!

"Hello?" the old man called again. His dark eyes swept the room, but he saw no movement and heard nothing. He frowned, puzzled. The lab wasn't far from the workroom; he could've sworn he heard something breaking in here.

Jenkins went over the wall and snapped on the ceiling lights. He started toward the Christmas tree, but he got no further than a few steps when he stopped, frozen in his tracks at the sight before him.

There was Franklin, crouched flat against the floor and staring up at the Caretaker with large, sad eyes. In front of the tea dragon were the shattered remains of the crystal angel that Cassandra had placed on top of the tree this afternoon. There were several other glass ornaments that fallen from the tree and broke as well. Strands of tinsel and lights on the tree were also dislodged, half-pulled off of the Christmas tree. As he looked back at the little dragon, Franklin whined softly, his long ears dropped in submission as he kept his head flat on the floor. Jenkins took a deep breath and sighed.

"Someone has been up to some mischief, I see," said the immortal somberly. He bent over and picked up a fragment of the tree topper's wing. The crystal angel had belonged to Cassandra's beloved great-grandmother, and she was going to be heartbroken when she learned what had happened to it. As he gazed blankly down at the piece of heavy glass in his hand, Franklin finally got up and crept to Jenkins's feet, whining softly in distress as he flopped down onto the floor again. When he saw Jenkins looking down at him with a face like stone, the wretched little tea dragon slowly reached out one paw and laid it on the tip of the man's shoe, crying pitifully as he did so while he looked up with wide, black, pleading eyes at the tall man.

Jenkins gazed down at the unhappy dragon for several seconds. With a sigh, he stooped and tossed the broken glass onto the floor with the rest of the angel, then scooped up Franklin before standing up again. He cradled the tea dragon in his arms as he carried him over to a chair and sat down. He set the dragon on his lap, upright on his haunches, so that Jenkins could look him in the eyes.

"You've been a very naughty dragon, Franklin!" he rumbled soberly, his eyes fixed firmly onto the reptile's. He knew that, like most animals, Franklin didn't understand the words, but tea dragons were exceptionally intelligent creatures—he clearly understood the tones of a human's voice and what emotion was being communicated.

"You _know_ you're not allowed to climb the Christmas tree! And now see what happened when you disobeyed?" Jenkins looked pointedly at the scattered glass on the floor, and Franklin's eyes followed his gaze. Seeing the broken statue, Franklin's ears and whiskers drooped in shame, and his body would've huddled into a ball had Jenkins not held him upright.

Jenkins could see how sorry his little friend was; tea dragons couldn't help being very curious creatures, and the immortal supposed that it was only a matter of time, really, before something like this happened. He cleared his throat to get Franklin's attention. As soon as the animal turned his head to look up at him, Jenkins smiled and patted one hand on his chest in an invitation. Franklin, seeing that Bái Shān wasn't angry with him, immediately perked up, and when the patriarch patted his chest, the tea dragon squealed with joy and threw himself against Jenkins's chest. The immortal laughed softly and held Franklin close, lovingly stroking and patting the dragon's long back as the ecstatic Franklin squirmed and wriggled happily against him, grunting and yipping and squeaking his relief and happiness as he nuzzled, licked and cuddled the old man's neck and face. Finally, Jenkins had to gently pull Franklin off of himself. He held the happy little dragon on his lap and looked directly into the shining black eyes.

"So it's settled then—no more climbing Christmas trees?" Jenkins looked at the tree and slowly shook his head while he spoke in a serious tone. Franklin understood everything and, more calm now, he ducked his head in surrender and whined plaintively.

"All right then, my fine little fellow," Jenkins said, smiling again as he set the little dragon onto the floor. "All is forgiven. Now, go and play—and _behave_ yourself!" He gave Franklin's hindquarters a playful slap, and the tea dragon scampered off to his nest as fast as his little legs would carry him: No more adventures for _him_ tonight!

Jenkins went to the closet to fetch a broom and a dustpan. As he began to sweep up the broken glass, he became worried and saddened again. Cassandra was going to be _very_ upset about the loss of the angel. She had loved her great-grandmother very much; Berenice Cillian was the only member of his wife's family who had loved and supported Cassandra for who she was, not for what she could do. Mrs. Cillian had died while Cassandra was still young, and, besides a few old family recipes, the Christmas tree angel was the only physical item she had to remind her of that unconditional love.

Jenkins stood up and started to dump the crystal fragments into a wastebasket, but his hand froze suddenly. He stared down at the shards in the dustpan, his brow furrowing as he breathed deeply, a solution suddenly presenting itself to him.

The Library was full of books— _magical_ books—all of which contained at least one spell that could be used to restore damaged items to their former state. It was a very elementary spell, it hardly took any effort at all to use, once one knew how.

Jenkins knew how.

He shook his head and grunted softly to himself. No, he could not, _would_ not, resort to magic, not for something so trivial. Magic—even simple magic—was a last resort, to be used only when nothing else worked and the situation was desperate. Magic _always_ had a cost after all; how many times had he said as much to the three young Librarians over the years? To use magic now for something so mundane and self-serving was simply out of the question!

But, still...

Jenkins stared at the bits of glass glinting in the dustpan. He could already see Cassandra's face when he informed her that her precious keepsake was gone forever—and it was like a knife to his heart.

The Caretaker replaced the broom in the closet, but not the dustpan. His jaw set now with determination, he turned to march straight to his lab, the dustpan full of broken glass clutched firmly in his large hand.

* * *

" _There_ you are!" exclaimed Cassandra with relief as she entered the workroom. Jenkins was sitting behind his desk, busily copying text from an old tome of wizarding history. "When I woke up this morning and you weren't there, I started to worry!" She crossed the room and gave her husband an affectionate peck on the cheek. Smiling, Jenkins put down his quill and rubbed his tired eyes as he turned on his stool to face her.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to alarm you," he said, taking her hands in his and smiling gently at her. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I decided to come back here and get caught up on some of the work I couldn't do yesterday." He felt a twinge of guilt at how smoothly he could lie to his wife, but he firmly squelched it.

"That's okay, sweetheart," the Librarian answered, then leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. "I'm just glad that nothing's wrong! Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Not a bite!"

"How 'bout some pancakes?" she asked brightly. Jenkins's eyes lit up.

"I would _love_ some pancakes!" he said enthusiastically, his mouth already beginning to water. Cassandra stood back a step and offered him her arm.

"Pancakes it is, then!"

Jenkins hooked his arm through hers and the pair turned to go to the kitchen. He smiled as he cast a furtive glance at the Christmas tree just before they passed through the doorway.

In the workroom, the lights of the Annex's perfectly-dressed Christmas tree continued to blink, merrily reflected by the dozens of colored glass ornaments and tinsel, from the bottom-most branches of the tree all the way to the beautiful antique crystal angel with outspread wings perched at its very top.


	10. Hope

"Happy Birthday, Eve!" hollered a decidedly tipsy Jacob Stone, raising his nearly empty bottle of beer into the air over his head. All around him and his friends were brightly colored balloons, signs, discarded wrapping paper and ribbon. The mauled remains of a large chocolate birthday cake sat in the middle the Annex's workroom table, surrounded by more empty brown bottles and Chinese food containers, used plates and forks. Nearby, Franklin was flopped onto his back with his head hanging over the edge of the table, passed out, his long snout smeared with bits of cake and frosting.

"Happy Birthday, Eve!" The other Librarians, equally drunk, raised their own bottles and yelled out their good wishes as well.

"What...what time is it?" slurred Cassandra, an exaggerated frown wrinkling her brow. Ezekiel looked at his watch through squinted, bleary eyes.

"Eleven-thirty!" he finally crowed.

"We should…we should go to bed!" said Cassandra worriedly. "S-Santa won't come if we don't go to bed soon!"

"We got time for one more, Cassie!" said Jake, reaching into the cooler next to him and fishing out more bottles for everyone. "Come on, now—one more for th' road!"

"No more for me, thanks," said Eve crisply, shoving her one and only bottle of beer for the evening away from her before getting up from the table. "What I need right now is some fresh air." As the others opened their fresh beers and raucously toasted their friend's birthday again, Eve quietly slipped out of the workroom and headed for the front door to the Annex.

She opened the cold steel door and stepped out onto the concrete pad just outside. She sucked in a deep lungful of the sharp night air and exhaled it through her mouth, her breath hanging in a thick cloud in front of her face for a moment before dissipating. The sky was clear, and stars sparkled like ice crystals overhead. All was still and silent around her, and she closed her eyes for a moment to luxuriate in it.

Suddenly, something heavy landed on her shoulder. Instinctively, the soldier inside of her took over; her right hand shot up and across her body to seize the wrist of her assailant. At the same time, she turned her body to face the stranger as she used their arm to force them to turn away from her, then twisted their arm around and upward as she moved to get behind them. In less than five seconds, she had her attacker at her mercy, stooped over with their arm bent at a painful angle against their back; it would only take a bit more pressure to break their arm entirely.

"Colonel Baird!" The man's cry of pain stopped her cold.

"Jenkins?!" she exclaimed.

"My arm, if you don't mind?" he snapped tartly, trying to ignore the sharp pain that was shooting through his entire arm from the shoulder down.

"Oh!" The Guardian released his arm at once. "Jenkins! I'm sorry—I didn't hear you coming!' The old Caretaker stood up and rubbed his shoulder, then his elbow and wrist as he turned around to face her.

"My fault, I suppose; I should have known better than to approach a soldier from the rear without identifying myself first," he conceded grudgingly. "My apologies to _you_."

"No problem, Jenkins, no harm done," she answered, waving a hand in dismissal. Jenkins snorted.

"No harm done? Clearly _you_ weren't the one to almost have her arm torn out of its socket just now!"

"Like you said—that's what you get for sneaking up on someone!" she reminded him good-naturedly. "Besides, I didn't use _that_ much force." The tall blonde cocked her head as a realization came to her. "Just why were you following me, anyway?"

"I was curious as to why you were going outside, that's all," he answered as he rolled his injured shoulder to loosen it up. Eve's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I came out for some air; I said so in the workroom," she said. Jenkins stared directly into her eyes.

"You came out for air," the immortal repeated flatly, his tone indicating that he didn't believe her for a moment.

"Yes. I came out for some _air_ ," she said slowly, testily. The man's dark eyes swept over her body, as though assessing her.

"I've been watching you over the last few days, Colonel Baird," he finally said, his chin rising slightly as he addressed her. "I think you're in need of more than just air." Eve raised her arms and let drop against the side so f her body, her hands slightly slapping her thighs.

"Oh, _really_?" she asked sarcastically. "And just what is it that you think I _really_ need, Dr. Sigmund Jenkins, if I may ask?" The Caretaker's head rose even higher, a slight smirk of triumph on his lips, as if he'd been waiting for just such an opening.

"A sympathetic ear," he replied loftily. Baird stared back, her jaw hanging in astonishment.

"A sympathetic ear?" she echoed in disbelief. " _A sympathetic ear_?!"

"Yes," he answered simply. He then fell silent, waiting. Eve rolled her eyes as she raised her arms and let them drop a second time.

"I don't believe this!" she mumbled, suddenly irritated. She began to pace on the short concrete pad. "I just came out here for some air and to think, Jenkins, that's all!"

"Ah! So now we're _thinking_ , in addition to getting some fresh air!" the immortal gloated. "And what do you need to think about, if I may ask?" Eve whirled around and glared at the placid immortal. She quickly strode over to stand directly in front of him.

"Well, if you _must_ know, I came out here to think about what a shitty year this has been!" she snapped, going from irritated to angry in the blink of an eye. She began gesturing with her hands, ticking off items on her fingers as she went on. "It's just been one crappy thing after another this year—the pandemic; the killings of all those black people by the cops; the _protests_ against all those killings; the rioting; global warming; the politics; human trafficking; the white supremacists; all the wars in the world; all the floods and fires and earthquakes and hurricanes; that giant...orange...idiotic... _jackass_ in the White House and all of his slimy little toadies! And that's all _besides_ this scary new magical Cassandra that we seem to have on our hands now and all of the crap we had to deal with from DOSA this year—it's just been too much, Jenkins!" There was a raw desperation in her voice as she finished speaking. She turned away from Jenkins and there was silence between them for a few seconds.

"But you, of all people, Eve, know that hope is restored at this time of year," Jenkins answered quietly. Baird spun around to look him in the face again, and he could see that her eyes were glistening with welling tears.

"But that's just it, Jenkins," she said, barely above a whisper. "I _do_ know that, and I'm telling you that I don't think even Santa can renew hope in the world, not _this_ year!" The old Caretaker shifted his position a bit.

"I think you're wrong," he said steadily. Eve's shoulders slumped and she shook her head.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," she muttered, then turned and took a few steps away from her friend. "The entire world is at each other's throats right now; how can Santa possibly come up with the amount of hope needed to overcome all of... _this_?!" She waved both arms high in the air to take in the whole planet, then let her arms drop wearily again.

"There're billions of people in the world, Jenkins—billions of angry, hurting, struggling people, and only _one_ Santa," she went on, her voice sad and forlorn now. "How is _one_ being, even one as powerful and magical as Santa, supposed to overcome that?"

Jenkins stood silently and regarded the tall woman standing a few feet away from him, looking sadly up at the jarringly serene night sky with watery blue eyes. He dropped his gaze for a moment as he collected his thoughts, then raised his head and stepped closer to stand next her. He raised his head up to follow her gaze into the heavens above them.

"You're forgetting to whom you're speaking, Eve," he began quietly, contemplating the stars overhead. "I have seen far worse than what's going on right now." He took a deep breath, clasped his hands together behind his back as he stared at the North Star.

"Things are serious right now, I don't want to discount that; your concerns are valid," he continued. "But, honestly, they are nothing that can't be overcome with just a bit of effort on the part of everyone." Eve turned her head and scowled.

"Since when did _you_ become such a Pollyanna?" she snorted. Jenkins smiled.

"This pandemic, for instance," he said, still looking up. "It _is_ a serious health crisis and it's nothing to be taken lightly. But it's nothing compared to the Black Death that swept Europe in the Middle Ages." Eve looked over at him and saw the stony expression that fell over his face as he remembered that horrible time. "Nowadays it's cured with a simple antibiotic, but in those days there was no such thing. There was _nothing_ to stop it. It tore through the largest cities in Europe and left nothing but piles of corpses in its wake in a matter of days. People died so quickly, so horribly..." A shudder went through his body at the memories of that dreadful time-the people dying faster than they could be buried or even burned, left in homes and on the streets for weeks to rot or for the rats and the dogs to scavenge. He forced the terrible images from his head and forced himself back to the present.

"I've seen nations rise and fall, some wiped forever from the face of the map," he went on. "I've seen peoples enslaved, oppressed, exploited and slaughtered, all in the name of some monarch, or religion, or for the glory of some nation, or some other equally stupid reason." He turned his head to look at Eve.

"What I'm trying to say, Eve, is that I've seen all of this before, and I daresay that I'll see it all again in the future..."

"Great!" the Guardian interjected her voice thick with mock cheerfulness as she gave him a thumbs' up. "Thanks for the pep talk, Jenkins; I feel _so_ much better now!" The immortal lowered his head and gave her reproving look.

"If I may be allowed to finish?" he asked sternly. Eve sighed loudly and waved her hand at him.

"Fine. Go ahead."

"Thank you," he said, then cleared his throat. "What I started to say was that every time things began to look utterly hopeless, there were people who stepped forward and did their level best to counter the hopelessness by doing whatever they could to change things. Individuals forced the medical sciences to evolve and develop until now we have a drug that cures the Black Death and many other diseases once thought to be incurable. The same will happen with Covid-19." He turned to face Eve directly.

"Individuals banded together in centuries past to end slavery in almost every place on earth. Individuals banded together to fight for equality for everyone regardless of race, gender, creed or color; that struggle is still ongoing, but advances are being made every day!" He reached down to take her hand in both of his. He looked directly into her eyes, his own brown ones shining with fervor. "We still have a great deal more work to do, of course, but it _can_ be done, but only if we don't give up on hope! We _have_ to have hope, Eve! We can't give it up now, not after we've come so far!" Eve cocked her head and gave the old man a quizzical look.

"Wow, you really _have_ turned into a Pollyanna!" she said in a half-teasing tone, and Jenkins chuckled softly.

"Perhaps I have," he answered. He squeezed her hand again and looked earnestly into her eyes. "But if that's the case, I have you and the others to thank for it—especially Cassandra. You've all...done a great deal to restore _my_ hope, and not just in mankind. You've restored my hope in myself, too." He gave her hand another quick squeeze and then let go of her.

"You're immortal now, but you haven't lived nearly long enough yet to have any way of judging between what's bad and what's _really_ bad," he went on. "But you will. Just wait, Eve Baird—things _will_ get better, I promise! I can't say when, but I know that they will, and it will come by the efforts of people who refuse to let go of their hope for a better future and a better humanity." He laid his hands on her shoulders and stared intently at her.

"Please—don't _you_ give up hope!" he urged. "A new year is coming; we all get a clean slate! Another chance to change the world, and if we help each other, well—there's nothing we can't accomplish."

Eve gazed into his dark, serious eyes, and saw the hope he truly had for them all—for her, for the Librarians, for the world. Suddenly, things didn't seem so bleak and impossible anymore, and she felt a heavy weight slough off of her for the first time in weeks. She smiled and slid her arms around the old Caretaker's body, leaned into him as she hugged him tightly.

"Thank you, Jenkins," she whispered in a husky voice. She felt his arms encircle her as he returned her embrace.

"What are friends for, if not to give each other a nice pep talk when we feel like the world is going to hell in a handbasket?" he replied. His tone was light, but she knew he was serious. She let go of him and stood back so that she could see his face.

"Even as an immortal, I never thought I'd live to see the day that _you_ became be the voice of optimism!" she said, laughing. In the distance, a clock tower began to toll midnight. Jenkins raised his head to peer into velvety sky above.

"It's Christmas Day; humanity's hope is restored," he said in almost childlike wonder, then looked down at Eve.

"Merry Christmas, Eve!" he said warmly, and smiled. Eve smiled back and threw her arms around him again, pausing just long enough to kiss his soft, cold cheek before giving him the closest thing to a bear hug that she could manage.

"Merry Christmas, Jenkins!" she said fervently. "Merry Christmas...!"


	11. Dudeoir

Joanne Markelson stepped into the reception area of Markelson Photography of Portland, ready to meet with her final appointment of the day. She stopped short, her brow furrowing as she swept the small room with puzzled, hazel-colored eyes. The only person she saw was a tall, elderly man wearing an expensive three-piece suit of gray wool and sapphire blue bow-tie, with a headful of nearly-white hair combed straight back from his forehead. He was sitting ramrod straight on the edge of one of the upholstered chairs in the waiting area, a long, flat wooden box on his lap. His large hands rested on it protectively. As soon as she entered the room, he turned his head to stare disconcertingly straight into her eyes.

"Mister, um...Jenkins?" she asked hesitantly, unnerved by the piercing dark eyes. His face, though careworn and lightly wrinkled in places, was still rather full and boyish. _He was probably a real hottie back in the day_ she thought as she pasted a smile onto her face. "Galeas Jenkins?" The old man inclined his head slightly and stood up.

_Whoa! Look at the_ _ **size**_ _of this guy!_ Joanne forced herself to step forward and extended her hand. "Welcome, Mr. Jenkins! I'm Joanne Markelson, the owner." He shifted the long box to his left hand, extended the other to take hers and shake it stiffly. His hand nearly swallowed hers completely.

"My pleasure," he rumbled in a flat, perfunctory tone, and she instantly recognized the deep baritone voice from the phone conversation she'd had with him a few days ago. As he released her hand, she saw his eyes narrow a bit as he gazed down at her.

"Is there a problem, Miss Markelson?" he asked, almost defensively, and Joanne mentally kicked herself for letting her surprise show on her face. She didn't think he was a pervert or anything, not someone who would hurt her, but he did strike her as…odd. She decided the best way to go here was to simply be honest.

"I apologize, Mr. Jenkins," she said after taking a deep breath. "When I spoke to you on the phone the other day, I developed a different picture in my head of what you looked like, and—"

"And you imagined that I was much younger and _much_ better looking," he finished for her, diffidence in his voice. "And the reality has turned out to be more than a little disappointing for you."

_Wow. Touchy old fart, ain't he?_

"I _will_ admit to being surprised by the reality," she conceded steadily, more than a little irritated as she met his stare full-on. "Though I'm not sure as to why you would think I'm disappointed? Unless you just assume that I'm in the habit of hitting on all of my clients...?" Jenkins immediately dropped his eyes. He laid his free hand over his chest and actually gave her a small bow.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Markelson," he said, genuinely contrite. "I most certainly did not mean to insinuate any such thing! It's just that..." He glanced up before letting his eyes drop to the floor again. "I've never done anything like this before in my entire life, you see, and I'm...well...I'm somewhat apprehensive..." Joanne felt her heart flutter a bit at the shy look that appeared on his face, softening the stern expression with which he had greeted her, and she immediately regretted being so sharp with him.

"I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot," Joanne said amiably and smiled up at the old man in hopes of reassuring him. "Look, I understand. You're not the first one to be nervous about doing something like this, believe me! But let me assure you. Mr. Jenkins, that if at any time during the shoot you begin to feel uncomfortable or just want to stop, it's okay—just sing out and I'll shut it down." Jenkins raised his eyes to meet hers, staring intently as he gauged her sincerity. Satisfied, his lowered his gaze and let a tiny smile come to his face.

"Thank you, Miss Markelson; that _is_ reassuring," he said. He raised his head and pulled his shoulders back. "So—now what?" Joanne grinned, glad to have smoothed things out with her client.

"If you'll just step this way, please?" She waved him around the counter and toward a door which led to a surprisingly spacious photography studio. As he walked past her, she was surprised to see that his hair was actually tied up in a thick braid that hung half-way down his broad back.

The photography studio itself was a small converted warehouse. Joanne had already set up the large, open space with lights, but there was nothing else that Jenkins could see. He was relieved to see that all of the windows of the warehouse were covered by heavy drapes. The photographer pointed to a door off to the right side, what had once been an office space. Its window, too, was covered.

"That's the changing room," she said. She walked over to a table that was scattered with papers, cameras and lenses. There was also an unsheathed longsword. Joanne picked it up and turned to him.

"You said on the phone about having some pictures taken of you as a medieval knight," she said, hefting the sword in her hands, a thoughtful look on her face. "I've been thinking about it, and I'd like to try something, if it's okay with you. I'd like to take a string of action shots of you wielding this sword. No other props, like pieces of armor or anything like that, no backdrops. Just the sword and you, nude. What do you think?"

Jenkins inhaled silently, deeply, held his breath as he considered her idea. He found that the idea appealed to him—no contrived costumes or false settings, no unrealistic, uncomfortable poses. Just a knight practicing with his sword; what could possibly be more natural for him? _A knight who just happened to be naked, though_ he reminded himself.

He exhaled and forced the thought from his head, nodding as he looked over at the patiently waiting photographer.

"I think that's an excellent idea," he agreed. "However…" He held up the long case he'd been carrying in his hands. "I've brought my own sword; I'd like to use _it_ , if I may." He saw the questioning look in the young woman's eyes.

"I've practiced swordsmanship my entire life," he explained, the note of pride in his voice unmistakable. "As a way of instilling…self-discipline, you see." He gave her a tiny, disarming smile.

"Wow, really? That's great! Your pictures should look a lot more real and natural than if we posed you!" Joanne responded, echoing his smile with one of her own. "We can absolutely use your sword, no problem!" She was genuinely looking forward to this shoot now. She did a lot standard, hum-drum boudoir photographs for women, but men wanting to have so-called "dudeoir" sessions were rare. And men _this_ guy's age were rarer still, but they usually made for much more interesting photographs.

"I'd like to try something a little more artistic with you, if I can. I thought maybe we'd shoot the pictures only in black and black, maybe a few in sepia, too, but nothing in color, just to give them an 'ancient' feel, if you know what I mean?" Jenkins nodded his head and grunted softly in agreement, secretly amused by the descriptor "ancient".

"Yes…yes, I think that would make for some visually appealing photographs," he murmured. "At least as far as photos of old nude men _can_ be appealing, I suppose."

"Don't sell your short, Mr. Jenkins," Joanne said knowingly. "Just wait until you see the pics, then you can judge how 'unappealing' you are!" Jenkins smiled and bowed his head in acquiescence.

"Shall I go and, um…change now?"

"That'd be fine," she answered, returning her prop sword to the table before going around and to turn on the powerful photography lights. "There's a robe in the changing room; take your time and come on out when you're ready. No rush!" Jenkins turned to go to the changing room, then turned slowly back to the woman.

"I think you should know—" he said hesitantly, and she stopped working, turned to face him expectantly. She was surprised and perplexed to see a look of shame on the old man's face as he stared uncertainly at her. Jenkins ran a nervous hand down the front of his suit. "I have some...rather bad scarring. On my body, I mean. Some find it...disturbing. I probably should've mentioned it when I spoke to you on the phone..." Now Joanne understood where his initial prickliness had come from, and she was moved by compassion for him. She walked over and stood in front of him, looked up steadily into his anxious eyes.

"You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Jenkins," she said quietly, kindly. "Believe it or not, before I set up my shop here in Portland, I used to be a crime scene photographer for the Seattle Police Department for several years. Trust me—I've seen all sorts of damaged bodies; nothing shocks or 'disturbs' me anymore." She reached out and very lightly laid a hand on his elbow.

"I can see this isn't easy for you, and I admire your bravery," she said. "There aren't many people with the guts to put themselves in such a vulnerable position." Jenkins gave a small nod of his white head.

"Yes, well, then," he said briskly, and turned to go to the changing room.

"Wait!" Joanne called and he stopped, looked back.

"The braid—would you mind undoing it, please? Just let your hair hang loose?" she asked. The old man smiled and nodded again, then went to change out of his clothes.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, the door finally opened and Jenkins stepped out of the changing room. He was barefoot, wearing only a thin, knee-length bathrobe, his long hair hanging over his shoulders like a veil. Joanne noticed he was now carrying a sheathed longsword. As he approached, she was able to see the stunning craftsmanship of its hilt and scabbard. _That's no prop!_ she thought, impressed.

"Ready?" Joanne asked, picking up her camera and giving it one more check. Jenkins nodded, then held up the sword.

"A word of warning, Miss Markelson," he said somberly. "This is real weapon, sharp as a razor. It would be behoove you to stay as far away from me as possible while taking your photographs, for your own safety. Once I begin the exercise, all of my attention and focus will be on it to the exclusion of everything else around me. I would feel terrible if I accidentally caused you any harm!"

"Not a problem," she answered, and quickly moved to the edge of the large lighted area on the warehouse floor. She lifted the camera. "I'm ready when you are."

Jenkins turned his back to her, took a deep breath, and slipped first one arm, then the other out of the robe, switching the sword between hands as he did so. He dropped the robe and stood still for a moment, feeling the hot lights against the ruined skin of his back and shoulders. He spun around to face the photographer, his head held high.

Joanne gasped quietly at the sight; she wasn't sure what she was expecting, but she certainly hadn't expected _this_. She'd seen a lot when she worked in Seattle, and she could see that many of the old man's injuries were the result of stabbings, and some were clearly gunshot wounds. Some of the scars she couldn't even begin to identify, nor how one man could have acquired so much damage in one lifetime. Joanne shook her head, forced herself to shut out the scars and the questions and focus only on the job at hand. She nodded at him.

Jenkins grasped the hilt and drew his sword. The blade hissed softly from its scabbard and sang through the air as he dropped the scabbard on top of the crumpled robe. A chill ran up Joanne's spine; she could've sworn she saw the blade glow a faint blue for a moment as it left the scabbard, but she could see nothing now except the light glittering along the weapon's deadly edges. His eyes hard and decided now, the immortal raised the blade in front of him in salute to an invisible opponent, and he began.

* * *

Cassandra's eyes blinked open, and after allowing herself a few seconds to awaken fully, she slowly pushed herself up from the mattress with a sleepy groan. She noisily smacked her lips together, her tongue and mouth tasting sour and furry after last night's birthday party for Eve. Her head immediately began to pound dully with a headache. _Ugh!_ she thought hazily as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She noticed that she was wearing pajamas, but had no memory of putting them on. _When am I ever going to learn to not drink too much at parties?!_

She twisted around to look at Jenkins, but was surprised to see that his half of the bed was empty. She turned and looked around the dim bedroom through bleary eyes, but didn't see any sign of him.

"Jenkins?" she called out, her voice rough and gravelly. The sound of movement came from his sitting room, and then his neatly-groomed head poked around the doorframe.

_Great—he's already up and dressed_ she thought, irritated suddenly by her husband's sobriety.

"Ah! There you are!" he said cheerfully, smiling at her. "You've finally decided to rejoin the land of the living!"

"Oh, be quiet!" she growled, and instantly regretted having snapped at him. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I feel like crap this morning." She began to rub her tired eyes; they felt like they had sand in them. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten-thirty," he answered, ignoring her sharp words of a moment ago. He strode across the room, his hands behind his back, and sat down on the bed next to her, then leaned over to peck her cheek. "Merry Christmas!"

"Omigosh—it _is_ Christmas, isn't it?" she exclaimed. "Merry Christmas, Jenkins!" She then leaned toward her husband and placed a quick kiss on his lips, then stood up. "Ugh! I think I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Before you do—!" Jenkins said hurriedly, and a shy look suddenly came to his face. Curious, Cassandra sat down again slowly and looked at him, waiting.

"I… I have a gift for you," he continued, unable to look her in the eyes anymore. He pulled a large, square flat box tied up with a gold ribbon from behind his back and offered it to her with both hands. Cassandra took it from him and stared at it for a moment. It wasn't very heavy, and though unwrapped, the box itself was made of thick, navy blue cardstock that made for an elegant presentation when tied up with the shining gold ribbon. She looked up at him again.

"What is it?" she asked, her curiosity mounting.

"You gave me a gift recently that was both beautiful and meaningful," he answered. His dark eyes flicked up for a moment to gauge her reaction before dropping again to his hands in his lap. "I decided that I would return the favor for Christmas. I…I hope you like it."

"If it's from you, I'm sure—" The words disappeared as an idea suddenly came to her. Her eyes rounded, her headache forgotten.

"You _didn't_!" she gasped, shocked by the idea that had formed in her head. The Librarian tore the ribbon from the box and clawed the lid off in her eagerness to see if her suspicion was correct. She pulled the tissue paper aside and gasped again: Inside was a photo album.

"You DID!" she shrieked with excitement, and dumped the album out of its snugly fitting box. She snatched the book up and turned so that she could lay it on the bed. She didn't notice the immortal as he sat frozen, stiff as a stone statue, his muscles tense, barely breathing as he awaited her verdict on his gift.

Cassandra forced herself to calm down. She took a deep breath, exhaled it with her eyes closed, then opened them as she lifted the cover of the album and began to page through the photographs inside.

Jenkins watched her face closely. As soon as she saw the first photo, her expression melted into one of astonishment. As she turned the pages, her jaw began to drop, lower and lower with each new image. Her eyes widened as she stared at the pictures, and he thought he could detect the tiniest shake of her head as she went through the album.

_She hates them!_ he thought, his heart sinking. _Jenkins, you fool! What were you thinking!?_

She finally reached the last page, but instead of closing the album, she went back to the beginning and began to page through them all a second time, slowly, closely examining each in turn. All of the photographs were shot in stark black and white, the bright lighting producing sharp shadows that enhanced and brought out every line and imperfection on her husband's body. She was stunned to see that he was naked in all of the pictures; Jenkins was usually very self-conscious about his body and who saw it. He was covered with scars, the reminders of a lifetime's worth of battles fought and survived. His back was especially bad, crisscrossed with long, ugly, thick lines of scar tissue that told of a vicious lashing long ago. And there was his nearly-ruined left forearm, gruesomely scarred by rats in the 1600's.

But the photographer had skillfully taken something that the rest of the world dismissed as ugliness and had turned it into something that was breathtakingly beautiful. Page after page, there was Jenkins, posing with nothing but a sword— _his_ sword, the legendary Sward of the Red Hilt.

No, _not_ posing; Cassandra began to recognize some of the stances as ones she had seen him perform when he was practicing his swordsmanship. She could see every taut, stretched muscle in his arms, shoulders, back, buttocks and legs. The expression on his face was one of intense concentration, his eyes focused on an unseen opponent, his jaw clenched tightly in determination. His eyes blazed with ferocity as he thrust, lunged, ducked and leaped high into the air like a dancer. His long, silver-white hair was unbound, floating in the air around him, softening some of the harshness of the lighting. The tattoos he possessed were no longer merely unusual adornments: They communicated that he was a powerful warrior of ancient Celtic stock. Cassandra had only pretended to be a warrior in the pictures of herself that she'd given to her husband, but Jenkins was the real deal. He was always so kind and gentle with her, Cassandra had almost forgotten that fact about her husband. But these jarring, ethereal photographs in front of her showed her the raw, savagery that still lurked just below the surface of her knight, and it thrilled her.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you," Jenkins finally murmured next her. Confused, Cassandra tore her eyes from the album to look at him.

"What?" she asked faintly, startled to see a mixture of embarrassment and resolve on his face. "What—Oh! No! _No_!" She reached out to brush her fingertips against his cheek. "I'm _not_ disappointed, sweetheart—not at all!" She pulled her hand back and lifted the album from the bed, held it up between them.

"These are… _amazing_!" she breathed fervently. Her eyes dropped back to the open pages in her hands. "You're… _beautiful_ , Jenkins! That's the only word I can find for these." She looked up again and met his skeptical gaze.

" _You're beautiful_!" she repeated, more firmly, then dropped her wondering eyes to the album. "Sometimes I forget how strong, and brave, and…and _fierce_ you are. I'm so used to you being formal and…proper and…controlled and…and…"

"Clothed?" he suggested, with just a hint of a shy smile on his lips. Cassandra laughed and nodded her head.

"And clothed, yes—in _layers and layers_ of clothes!" she agreed fervently. It suddenly struck the Librarian that this was one of the things about these pictures that struck her the most; Jenkins was completely unbound and unfettered in the photos. He was free of everything—clothing, self-consciousness, fear, embarrassment, the cares of the world.

"This must have been pretty nerve-racking for you!" she said, looking up at him again with concern. "I mean, being naked in front of a stranger like that and everything?" Jenkins snorted softly and smiled.

"No more nerve-racking than it was for you when you had _your_ pictures made," he answered. "I thought to myself that if you could find the courage to let yourself be so vulnerable in order to do something for me, then I needed to find the courage to do the same for you." He took one of her hands and patted it affectionately. "Especially after the scene I caused at Estrella's spa last year. I decided it was time to train myself to be more comfortable in my own skin, so to speak."

Cassandra's heart filled to bursting with love for her battered knight—her battered, beautiful knight, who was willing to do anything to please her. She set the album aside and scooted toward him, then wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him tightly against her.

"I love you, Jenkins!" she said as she snuggled against him, burying her nose into the soft fabric of his suit coat. She felt his arms encircle her and return the hug.

"I love you too, Cassandra," he said, nuzzling the top of her head.

"Does that mean you'll go skinny-dipping with me the next time we go to Estrella's?" she asked, forcing her face up to give the immortal a decidedly mischievous look.

"Now you're just being wicked for the sake of being wicked!" he answered archly, and returned to nuzzling her hair. Cassandra lowered her face and cuddled against her man.

"I didn't hear a 'no'…" she sang.

"Hush, woman!" he scolded. "Or do you need another spanking?"

"Ha! I dare you to try!"

Jenkins let go of his wife and made as if to lay her across his lap. He managed to land one light, playful slap on her rump before Cassandra, laughing and squealing, squirmed free of his grasp. She snatched up the album and ran toward her sitting room, her body half-turned so that she could see where Jenkins as he chased her. He called out dire threats in an exaggeratedly stern voice, but in reality his heart was full beyond measure with love for his beautiful Librarian.


	12. A Happy New Year

Cassandra sat up on the couch and arched her back and stretched her arms high over her head as she yawned loudly.

"Excuse me!" she quickly apologized, and then snuggled against Jenkins next to her on the couch. He turned his head and looked down at her, a frown on his face.

"Cassandra, why don't we go on to bed?" he suggested gently. "You've had long day."

It was New Year's Eve, and the two were in Cassandra's sitting room. It _had_ been a long day for both of them, beginning early in the morning when the Clippings Book had fluttered anxiously on its stand, sending the Librarians and their Guardian on a mission to Iceland that took up the entire day and ran well into the early evening hours. By the time everyone returned to the Annex, they were exhausted, hungry and freezing. No one was in the mood to go through with the small in-house New Year's Eve celebration that had been planned, and it was cancelled in favor of going home and getting some much-needed rest.

Jenkins had cooked a simple but delicious dinner for his wife and had it waiting for her by the time she got back to the Annex—roasted chicken with root vegetables and a salad. Cassandra could barely keep her eyes open during the quiet meal, and so Jenkins was surprised when she suggested watching a movie together as they finished their dessert. The immortal looked askance at her, but she insisted, and so he had agreed to her request—so long as it wasn't one of those dreadful Hallmark movies. Cassandra selected _The Princess Diaries_ instead, much to his silent dismay.

Now, as they cuddled together on the comfortable couch and watched the movie, he saw how she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Cassandra," he said, half-chiding. " _Please_ , let's just go to bed; you're exhausted!" Cassandra started awake again.

"It's not midnight yet!" she protested. "What time is it?" Jenkins looked at his watch.

"It's not quite ten-thirty," he answered, his expression stern. "You'll never make it to midnight, Cassandra; it's all you can do to stay awake even while I'm talking to you right now!"

"But if I go to bed now I won't get my New Year's kiss at midnight!" she said plaintively, turning her head to look up at him, her wide blue eyes glazed with fatigue. "I've been looking forward to it all day!"

Jenkins had no response for that. He took a quiet lungful of air, and as he exhaled, he bent his head to kiss her forehead softly.

"Very well, my dear; if it's a midnight kiss you want, then a midnight kiss you shall have!" he promised. She rewarded his indulgence with a smile that could melt a frost giant's heart, then she settled against his body again to finish watching the movie. Not five minutes had passed before he heard her begin to snore delicately.

Jenkins snorted quietly and shook his head. He watched the rest of the movie by himself, and when it ended, he checked his watch again. A small lopsided smile of satisfaction came to his lips. It was exactly three minutes to midnight.

"Cassandra?" He called her name and gently shook his sleeping wife until she finally stirred. She forced herself upright, scrubbing her eyes with her knuckles.

"What?" she mumbled groggily and she tried to make her bleary eyes focus. "Whatsa matter?" Jenkins counted down as he watched the second hand on his watch sweep away the last few seconds of the old year.

"Five, four, three, two, one—midnight!" he announced grandly, smiling down at her. He bent his head a second time to kiss her forehead. "Happy 2021!" As she realized what he was saying, a happy smile came to the Librarian's face.

"Awwww, Jenkins!" she cooed drowsily. "You're so _sweet_!" Her hand went around the back of his neck and gently pulled him down for her much-anticipated New Year's kiss. Her lips met his, the electricity of their passion for one another arcing between them as they kissed, his hands sliding into her hair as their lips parted. When the kiss ended, she rested her forehead against his chin and sighed contentedly.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart!" she murmured, her eyes closing as sleep overtook her again.

"Happy New Year, my love!" he answered. He felt her arms go limp and slip from his neck as she drifted off into sleep.

Jenkins turned off the television with the remote control, then slowly stood, picking Cassandra up as he went. He carried her all the way to their apartment and laid her gently on the bed. He carefully undressed her and pulled the covers over her, tucked her in. He stripped his clothes off and left the draped over a nearby chair, then climbed in after her, taking care not to jostle her awake. He gingerly threaded his arms around her small sleeping body so he could spoon against her back as he drifted off to sleep, her warm skin against his in the chilly air of the bedroom.

As long as he had Cassandra beside him, it would always, indeed, be a very happy new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to finish—things in the US lately have been a little crazy. Thanks for reading, and Happy 2021 to everyone! ♥️

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads my fics and has supported me with your lovely comments and kudos! Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it, and Happy New Year to everyone!


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